Last Will and

Last Will and..." part 1 & end.

by Ed Becerra

Fandom: This fic was written for Eric Flint's novel (later turned into a series), "1632"

Notes: In it, an entire town from West Virginia is transported through time and space to southern German in the year of 1632, right in the middle of one of the ugliest religious wars Europe ever saw. Needless to say, the Americans are doing everything they can to survive. Just as obvious, some won't.

Eric's encouraging fanfiction set in this universe he's created, and SOME of it is even being published by Baen Books. (Nifty, eh?)

So, here's a MarySue set in the world of "1632." Enjoy.

"Last Will And..."
by Ed Becerra

Funny that this is prolly the last thing I'm ever gonna write. Used to love writing for fans back when we still had an Internet. But things change, and sometimes we can't change with them.

Losing the 21st century meant losing modern medicine, and in my case, that meant losing Prinivil. Twenty miligrams, each and every friggin' day.

And I took the last dose I had today.

Ain't gonna trouble Doc about it, there's people a damn sight younger and more useful to the future than I am, and they should rightfully have first call on it.

Besides, I miss Tasha. Be nice to see her again, if there's anything at all to what those blasted padres keep babbling about.

Anyway, back to what matters. I ain't got forever.

The crap in the house, I donate to the town. That includes clothing, utensils, appliances, and tools. The books go to the library, for the enlightenment of future generations. As a better writer than I once said:

"The written word is all that stands between memory and oblivion. Without books, we are cast adrift, neither teaching nor learning. They are mirrors on the past, windows on the present, and prisms reflecting all possible futures. Books are lighthouses in the dark sea of time."

All but one book, however.

If you've found this, you've found me. So, move the bed. No, it's not underneath the bed. That's too cliche', anyone might find it.

It's in the wall, behind the headboard of the bed. Pull the nails from the wainscotting - they're loose - and it will fall free. That's where I hide stuff I don't want folks snooping into.

The one book that's on top (It damned well BETTER be on top, as that's where I left it the last time!), give to Sterns. He'll know how to use it. More important, he'll know how IMPORTANT it is. Tell him to have that German kid in the print shop start making up as many copies as possible, and hide a few away. The knowledge in it was hard won, and we certainly don't want to have to start learning THIS shit all over again from scratch.

NAVMC-2890.

Department of the Navy, Marine Corps Manual of Combat.

Also known as "Small Wars: Edition of 1940".

Every friggin' thing we learned in those damned Bannana Wars in Central America. Nicaragua. Haiti. And every other place that the United Fruit Companies had plantations, and yelled to Uncle Sammy that he had to help them get rid of all those "nasty rebels".

It's the ORIGINAL text book in how to fight dirty. And how to fight someone who's fighting dirty.

Mike'll need that.

You'll ALL need that.

Best of luck, folks. You're gonna need that too.

Head's starting to ache. That's not a good sign. Don't want to get all maudlin, so I might as well wrap
this up.

We didn't ask for this, and it isn't hard to tell that most of wouldn't have done this even on a dare. But willing or no, it's the most noble cause I've seen in my life. My grandfather would have been proud to lend a hand, and his grandfather too. If I'd been healthier, so would I.

Do America proud, folks.

Oh, yeah.

Kick some serious ass.

(signed)

T. Mitchell.

END